Eve throws up her hands in defense. “I was only trying to warn Collette of how dangerous it can be.”
“Well, please, let me chime in, then.” I look at the wide-eyed woman who must be Collette. “Not only is there excessive drinking, but the teachers sleep with their students, and just last month a kid died at a secret underground party by having a sword shoved through him. But you should totally send your son—he’ll have a blast.” I chug the rest of the wine and go to grab my keys from the kitchen island.
“Sloane!” My dad follows after me. “You are not going to just leave after chugging that!”
“Don’t worry,” I say, slipping on my shoes, “if I get arrested again, I’ll call my mom.” I slam the front door shut behind me, and he doesn’t follow. Sometimes I wonder if I should writehima eulogy, but I think I’d need a bigger journal for that.
It’s late by the time I get back to Pembroke, and the route to get to my apartment from the highway always takes me past College Street, where the boys live. I almost miss the light on in the attic bedroom as I drive by.
Asher is home.
Don’t do it, Sloane, don’t do it.
I stop my car, put it in reverse, and turn down their street. I guess I’m doing it, if only out of curiosity. For once the front door is locked and I feel like this is a sign from the universe that I should just go back to my own apartment, but I knock anyway. Asher answers the door in plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt, his hair messy and his eyes sleepy.
I realize I don’t have anything to say. I don’t even know why I stopped by. “I saw your light on. I just thought I’d come say hey...”
He steps aside and I walk into the otherwise empty house, no other boys in sight. “Why are you not with your family?” he asks.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Touché.”
I follow him up to his room. “I was there for a while at my mom’s, then I went to my dad’s. And at the end of the day I just realized I wanted to be alone, I guess.”
“Oh, should I leave?” he jokes. “So you can be alone?”
What the hell am I doing?What the hell am I doing?“I should probably leave. I don’t even know why I stopped over.” I turn to go.
“So what do you want to drink?” he asks, walking over to the small cart by his dresser. “I have scotch or scotch.”
I turn back around and sigh. “I guess scotch.”
Asher puts a movie on and I sit on his bed with a glass of scotch. By far the weirdest Thanksgiving I have ever had.
“My dad is probably at some casino in Vegas, and my sister is with her boyfriend’s family,” he says finally.
I cough after sipping the drink he gave me. I’ve never had scotch and I don’t think I ever will again. The liquid settles in my stomach with a familiar burn. “Where’s your mom?”
“She’s not around.” He swirls the drink in his glass.
“Ah, divorced?” That would make sense and explain why Asher is the way he is.
“Dead,” he says.
I nearly choke on my next sip. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry...” I wait for him to tell me he’s kidding, but he doesn’t. “How did I not know that? I feel like a bad person for not knowing that.”
“Well, I don’t really go around playing the ‘dead mommy’ card,but maybe I should. I wonder if that would win me some pity fucks. What do you think?”
I lean back on his headboard, shaking my head. “Your ability to make anything a joke is astounding.”
“I probably should’ve mentioned that before the trip. Would’ve been really awkward if you had asked about her there.”
I debate asking the next question, because it requires getting personal with Asher, the thing I’ve been trying to avoid lately, but my curiosity wins again. “What happened to her?”
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
